On Hallowed Ground

Chapter Three: Graveyard Dancing

I sigh deeply, kneeling before the twin chunks of stone before me. The names, engraved long ago, are all-too-familiar reminders that the two people six feet under the ground where I'm sat are two people I've never quite gotten to know.

"He's mad, putting it lightly." I say simply. "He doesn't really think I'll believe him, right? I mean, a vampire hunter? Vampires don't even exist in these parts, they're just... I mean...he's mad!"

I place a bouquet of hyacinths - always her favourite flowers - upon the left grave, leaving the right bare - he never did care much for gifts, let alone flowers.

"I mean, I know there are things out there, there's stuff like vampires and all, but...but here? That's absurd!"

"Not absurd," I hear the soft female's voice, and I look up to see a blue-and-white-skinned figure standing upon the left grave, her black locks paler than in her pictures, her eyes white and vacant, her figure flickering in and out of focus and jumping slightly like the picture on a TV with a bad satellite signal would. "Just...odd. Never doubt what could be possible, Drewy."

"I know, I just...I don't know, mum. I don't believe him. I mean, I've known the guy barely a few hours, and he's saying he's a vampire hunter?"

"Sh." I hear someone say in a lower tone. Stood upon the right grave is another blue-and-white-skinned figure, with greying hair and blank white eyes. Not much to describe either figure by, all I can see is dark hair, white eyes, blue skin, and hesitant movements. "Other people come here besides you, you know. You mustn't alert others."

"Sorry, dad." I sigh. "It's just...a mad idea."

"And one I don't particularly like the thought of. Vampires, in our town? What'd become of us all then?"

"You'd both be fine." I reply, deadpan. "You're both already dead."

"Not as though we like the thought of having a vampire around to hurt our living son though." My mother sighs, frowning slightly at the thought.

I hate this, everything being complicated. Only ever being able to see my parents on fleeting graveyard visits and never any other time of the day. No parents nagging me to do homework and chores when I get home from school, no home-cooked meals from my mother, no complaints from my father about my lack of manliness or whatever, no siblings to squabble and quarrel with... Ever since I was a kid, it was a child-worker that tucked me in at night, a hired cook to cater to twenty-something children three times a day in a care home, other children I didn't know entering and leaving the building on a daily basis; leaving either with a new family, or with a free pass every sixteen-year-p;d got out of the landfill site known as yet another care home for orphans.

"Yeah. Whatever."

I left when I was sixteen, despite being advised not to, promising myself things would get better, that I would do my dead parents proud. No one knew how they died; no one wanted to imagine. The coroner said it was murder, by a freak cult that drank blood as a satanic ritual...but my dad was wise enough to teach me about the things he studied before he died, and I knew better. Turns out it really was a human cult that killed them, a cult full of people wishing they were really immortal. Sick bastards.

"I need to go." I sigh deeply, patting both graves simultaneously. "But I'll be back tomorrow."

"And the next day, and the next day, and the next." My mother smiles, and acts as though she's going to ruffle my hair. However she must think better of it, and lowers her hand again - she's not a poltergeist, after all, she can't touch me. Neither can my dad.

It's only a few seconds later when my parents disappear, leaving me in the graveyard by myself, kneeling before two graves and wishing they weren't dead.